You got that right. If you read that title above it sounds like I want to pee alone on a TV show. No. It’s the book is on a TV show!!

Reporter Kim Holcomb and cameraman Howard from KING 5 news came to my house to tape a segment for local television. They were awesome and funny and Kim wore a super cute polka dot blouse. She did. When I opened my front door for her and cameraman Howard, I said, “Oh my gosh, you look so cute!” I hope Kim knew I meant her blouse, and Howard didn’t think I was flirting with him. Hmm… I never thought of that.

They wanted natural home stuff. You know, life as it is every day. I got to empty and load the dishwasher and Owen and James kicked the soccer ball. Emma was on the lap top and I did lots of ‘typing at my computer’ shots. I offered to scoop the cat box, but that didn’t make for such great TV. Hey- they wanted real, so I offered real.

I’m so glad I got a manicure that week with all those typing shots.

It was a gorgeous sunny day. But don’t let that fool you. No. Cameraman Howard closed the blinds then added these giant lights on stands. Apparently natural isn’t always good enough for television.

Then Kim shared with me that she’s interviewed Daniel Craig twice. Twice. Her impression of him- polite, but doesn’t enjoy press junkets. Not very personable. Okay, I can understand that.

Not everyone can be so giggly and sweet like me.

Seriously. I giggle the entire piece, you’ll hear. Also, I don’t always end my sentences. It’s a habit I have. I can’t seem to finish my thoughts with words or something.

And for the record- I don’t want Gwyneth to play me in the movie version. That was sarcasm that Kim didn’t pick up on. I want Amy Poehler or Kristen Wiig to play me in the movie version.

Mostly, what’s important about this TV piece is, you need to buy the book. (on Amazon, see my side bar) And you need to tell your friends to buy the book.

What good would media promotion be for a book if you didn’t buy it?

Some notes; My house looks cleaner on television than it is in real life. I have too many mugs that don’t all fit in my cupboards, that’s why I have to stack them. I didn’t realize I had a double chin until I saw it on TV. Also, special mention needs to be made that isn’t in the video, Jen from People I Want To Punch in the Throat is the band leader of all this craziness. Without her, we wouldn’t have the book.

So this book thing has been going really well. If you don’t know about the book, then here it is-

I know what you’re thinking. I thought the same thing- that is the cleanest toilet I’ve ever seen.

It’s available on iTunes and Amazon. It is #1 in the Humor category on both charts. Well, it was yesterday anyway. #1!!

We are 37 ‘mom bloggers’ (whatever that means) who each contributed an essay for this entire anthology that was compiled under the wise and tender care of Jen from People I Want to Punch in The Throat. This is a self-published book and we have come this freaking far just by word of mouth. Yes. You heard that right.

So we are hoping to rock the publishing world and take them all by storm. I mean, someone has to get Daniel Craig and Tina Fey to notice me for their next movies, right? So we need your help. We ask you that buy several copies. One for every room in the house, a kindle version, and several as gifts. Oh, and tell your friends to buy it too.

For fun, we all pitched in our ideas for auditions if our book would go to audio version and if it was to be read by a celebrity. No, I didn’t audition Daniel. I tried, but he was a little busy training for his next Bond movie.

If I did nothing but look after my house all day, people would think I’m weird and need a hobby. If I just sat around and did a hobby all day, people would think I needed to work more. It’s called balance people. I do what works for my family. Not yours.

Why are people so judgey? I didn’t ask your opinion. Okay, I just did about the judgey question, but before that. Why do people judge my parenting based on how often I’m on the internet? Shouldn’t they judge my parenting based on my kids themselves?

I’m a SAHM (Stay At Home Mom). It’s a lame term. I don’t just stay home. Sometimes I do. Sometimes all I can do is wait for the kids to leave the house for the school bus so I can watch Sherlock on Netflix or Downton Abbey. I make myself lattes and eat baked goods and am in clear denial as to the amount of work I actually have to get done. It’s a coping mechanism.

Then there’s some days I leave the house around 9 am and don’t get home until 7:30 or 8 at night. Between errands, appointments, volunteering and taking the kids to their activities, I am non-stop.

On a really good day, I’ll throw in some laundry between errands and empty the dishwasher. On a fabulous day, I’ll prepare a dinner that is nutritious AND delicious. Whoa.

So if you’re wondering, no, I don’t spend my whole day on Facebook. Or my blog.

I blog when I can, usually after the kids go to bed. Or when they’ve left for school.

Why am I even telling you this? Because there’s bloggers and moms and dads out there who seem to share their opinions freely about how horrible us blogging, Instagraming, Facebooking, and Pinteresting moms are. And I’m tired of it.

I’m pretty sure my kids are totally fine while I sit here next to them and I’m on my computer. Or wait in the carpool line on my phone. And when they were younger, how many times did I hear, “mommy watch this!” and for the one millionth time I was shown how they could spin and forward roll. Or burp. I didn’t miss any milestones of my children’s development because I was on the internet. My children are not maladjusted because I don’t give them every breathing, waking second of my attention. No, in fact. They are independent beings that know how to wipe their own ass. (Most of the time.)

Now with the book, I Just Want to Pee Alone out and kicking book selling butt- I want to be clear that I am in support of other moms who share their candid tales of parenting and motherhood, pregnancy and post-partum, and not just do it honestly, but hilariously! The kind of stories you laugh so hard at over a Girls Night Out when someone shares the story of how they gave birth, that you pee your pants, or spew your cosmo out your nose. Don’t all moms pretty much share their birth stories?

Then there’s my marriage. If I make a few jokes about McSweetie, can we not jump to conclusions that I must be a nightmare to live with? Can we not think my marriage must be miserable and my husband so pussy whipped, he doesn’t know what hit him? If I was a stand-up comic and did this piece about how husbands can behave like children, there would be a lot of women who agree with me. Or husbands that agree with me about their spouse being childlike. But put it in a blog, and all of a sudden, I’m Dr. Phil and I need to stop giving marital advice and stop emasculating my husband. Trust me, a list about how my husband doesn’t pick up his underwear, doesn’t emasculate him.

He admits to his foibles. He knows he can be lazy around the house. So what? I get something off my chest, a few others laugh about it and tell me they relate, I feel better. Life goes on. We don’t have to psycho analyze it into a marriage crisis, people! I’m actually pretty awesome to be married to. I wash his shorts, make his lattes, encourage him and his career, send him off to heavy metal concerts with his buddies, take care of his mother’s birthday… I’m a pretty damn good wife.

Here let me interview McSweetie on his feelings about this….

Oh, sorry, he was asleep on the couch. I’ll ask him later.

Okay, are we cool? Because I’m a little tired of people getting their knickers in a twist. Just chill the fluff down. I can’t please everyone, so I please me. And my family. Thankyouverymuch.

My husband and I have been together almost two decades. 17 years. That is crazy. Especially since I’m only 31. Just kidding. I’m 40 and everyone knows it.

I believe there are some things that should be kept from one another. Basic human nature aspects that really don’t need to be shared. Sure this guy is your soul mate, the love of your life. But I try to keep him from seeing the elephant ear shaped labias in actual daylight. I think romance needs to stay somewhat alive. I try to keep a shred of dignity around him. If my efforts keep him wondering, keep him thinking, “this woman has such a mystique, even though I’ve been married to her all these years,” I’m doing something right.

Here goes…

1. Only wear those pore trip nose thingies on your nose when he’s not around. I even have ‘Frownies’ which are these stick on tabs you use to immobilize your face instead of Botox. They are like postage stamps for your forehead. He will never see me in these.

3. Don’t go #2 in his presence. Yes, my husband thinks I, like other women, don’t poop. And honestly, I’m just going to pretend he doesn’t either. There are limits in our marriage. We can go #1 in each others’ company, but #2 is strictly off limits. What’s the worst is when we have to go to a hotel and eventually I have to have my morning poop. I make sure the fan is on and I keep a travel Febreeze in my product bag.

4. Keep from seeing each other’s anuses at all costs. I don’t think my husband has seen mine. I can’t guarantee what my husband saw of me during childbirth. It happened so fast and the poor guy was forced by the nurse to hold my leg. I told them no, that I wanted my hooha to be a sacred shrine of adoration kept intact in my husband’s mind, but they insisted. I don’t care that porn stars bleach their back door, this hemorrhoid addled (yes childbirth was retched on my body) butt isn’t going to be seen by anyone (except my gyno), not even a hand mirror I hold myself. And you can guarantee I will NOT be seeing his.

5. Don’t vomit on your spouse. Thankfully this has never happened to us. Once I puked on the bathroom rug and he graciously took it out to the garbage while I crawled back in bed with the puke bowl. Which is also the salad bowl I take to our neighborhood block parties.

6. Refrain from farting during sex. This I think I’ve done actually. We had Mexican before for dinner. I had too many margaritas. We were rolling around in the sack and I did a Carrie Bradshaw to Mr. Big for him. I think he was a little distracted about the other stuff going on and continued as usual.

7. If you’ve snuck his razor for lady grooming, rinse it off and put it back without him ever knowing. Pubes are kind of a mood killer. Hopefully he has done the same should he borrow yours ever. Guy pubes are pretty wiry. I’m counting on the fact that he doesn’t want my Lady Schick in that jungle of his. Not that he does any manscaping down there, but if he did shave his balls- it would so be some Mach 4 razor that is only man enough for the job.

So there you have it. I think I’m about 80% mysterious to my husband. I will do my darndest to keep from him my stained underwear, hemorrhoid asshole and nose strips till death do us part. Truly, this is key to a long and healthy, happy marriage.

Wow. Did you feel that? It’s the winter doldrums coming to suck the life out of us like an Azkaban Dementor.

Usually I do pretty well and don’t get this ‘seasonal affective disorder’ thing. McSweetie is usually on a man-period throughout the months of January and February. All grumpy and stuff because he goes to work in the dark and comes home in the dark. I try to stay cheerful. But let’s face it- December was fun and festive, even if it’s stressful, it feels special. Nothing feels special about January and February. If you say Valentine’s Day, I say- shut it.

We aren’t going to any sunny destinations this winter. We are stuck in the rainy northwest. Actually, the last few days have been sunny and cold. I’m confused. I don’t know what to do in this dry sunny weather.

Also, the crud has been going around and everyone has been sick. I’ve been just ‘off’. Not sick, not great. Which doesn’t really count. I mean, right? Who cares if you just feel blah? If you aren’t in bed with a fever, then just get off your ass already and get things done. Ha.

No.

So I made a list of why I am trying to convince myself to a) choose happy; and b) be glad it’s winter and not summer.

Don’t we always complain about how hot and awful summer can get? I mean, yes, we love the sunny warm weather, but mother nature gets carried away and starts to cook us like Hades. So here is why I will try to like winter:

1. There’s no need to shave your legs.

2. There’s no boob sweat since it’s 30 degrees out.

3. Dinner can be made in the oven and not heat up the house.

4. The sound of a furnace running makes me feel so modern and first world.

5. Hot chocolate

6. Who doesn’t like leg warmers?

7. You don’t need to wear a swimsuit or even go near a pool.

8. The beach is really overrated. The sun and sand are so harsh on your hair and skin and sand keeps showing up in unexpected places.

9. Think of all the money you are saving not buying sunscreen.

10. It gets dark so early you can tell the kids to go to bed and they actually do (to a degree), instead of the ‘but mom, it’s not dark out yet’ excuse. I HATE THAT.

11. The kids are in school. Okay, yes- there’s Martin Luther Kind Day, end of semester break and sometimes a snow day, but hey- it’s not summer break- thank GOD!

12. TV shows aren’t in reruns like during the summer. Who ISN’T excited for season 3 of Downton Abbey? I mean, come on!

13. When the weather is crappy, no one blames you for napping under a blanket or having a ‘movie day’ with the kids.

14. Donuts.

I threw that last one in because I think a lot of problems can be solved with donuts. Fitting in my skinny jeans, isn’t one of those, but who cares.

I have been a huge fan of this site so today I feel like the new kid at the big girl’s lunch table. They feature fabulous women, hilarious articles and blush-worthy topics. It’s like girl talk in the bathroom. Hence- the Powder Room reference.

So run on over there already, why are you still here??

Today’s post- What happens when you buy something that doesn’t fit but you can’t return it?

I’m not talking about a shirt, or a nightstand, or even a pair of shoes. Something more personal ….

If I get my kid a hair cut or not, it’s none of your gads dang beeswax.

Owen hasn’t had a buzz cut since he was 5 years old. He’s 9 now. He likes his hair a long short. It’s short, but it lays a good 5 inches from his scalp. He just likes it kind of moppy.

Every since the haystack hair of preschool days started bothering him, he wears it longer vs. shorter.

Who cares? Right?

Except every dang blessed person needs to point this out to him. Stop already.

First there’s the grandparents. “Well hey son, your hair is getting kinda long there, when are you going to get a hair cut? I can barely see your eyes.

Then Owen will make a tear filled plea, “I wish kids at school would stop talking about my hair”, he’ll cry.

“Why do they talk about your hair?”, I ask.

“They say I look like a girl!”, he’ll cry.

Huh? Ya look like a boy to me kid. What, with your sports jersey, high tops and all that fart talk! So I tell him to never mind and it will all be okay, like any mom does, right?

Then there’s the discussion about his weight-

Did I mention Owen is skinny? He is. His dad is really skinny. Always has been. I mean, like lanky lean Russell Brand skinny. But without the cocaine addiction and long hair.

Owen will grow up to be just like his dad I’m sure. A blond version of his dad. Healthy, tall, lean, a good runner, great at soccer, super coordination, good balance. Yeah, but what do people talk about- how skinny he is.

Thanks people. You know what that does to him? It makes him feel like he’s not good enough being just who he is. It makes him feel like he needs to change to conform to some other ‘normal’ that people seem to picture him in.

How many times I have to give him the pep talk because he’s standing on the scale wondering when he’ll gain 5 pounds. Sure, lots of kids at school are chubby. Do we talk about the chubby kids? No. That would be mean. But telling my kid he needs to eat a cheeseburger because he’s like a bean pole, is okay? No. It’s not.

Yes- this is my son we are talking about. Not my daughter. My daughter who is 12 and you would think would be obsessing over her body, isn’t like this. She’s petite as well but I think she’s learning to appreciate her size, thank God!

Owen is only 9. He’s still getting there.

I tell him, when he stands on the bathroom scale and asks me if he can have a steak so he’ll gain some weight, “Owen, do you know how great it is that you are so lean and light? You know when you do a breakaway in soccer and you run with that ball like the wind? Remember that. That is what you are made for. Not how you look, not how big your muscles are, or a number on the scale. You just keep being you.”

And then he sighs and says, “okay, can I have ice cream?” Yes, son, after your dinner.

Remember what you say to a child. Even a child that is not your own. The words you say to them stay in their little minds and create a truth, a reality that might not be necessary for them to even know or hear. I remember everything said to me growing up about how I looked. And it’s still etched in my brain looking at my 40 year old self. The good and the bad.

This isn’t a, Woe is Me My son Is So Sensitive, post. It’s a, Think of the Words You Choose Towards Children post.

Okay, we did more than survive it. We sucked the life out of it and showed it who’s boss. Well, really, I just ate too much, drank a little too much and have become a vegetative shell of a human.

This is why bears hibernate during the winter. I don’t think mammals are programmed for much activity once the Winter Solstice kicks in. I’ve been sleeping in and so have the children, except Christmas morning- when Owen came in my room, “It’s 6:04 mom. You said we could get up at 6:00.” Sure kid, Merry Christmas to you too.

I’ve been eating every carb in sight. This might not be new for you either. Cinnamon bread, scones, and coffee. You’d think I’d have more energy with the amount of coffee and sugar I am consuming. Far from it. I seem to just plan my day around which warm, caffeinated beverage I will have next. What creamer or syrup will it be this time? Gingerbread, pumpkin? Hazelnut? Coconut?

My waistline is starting to resemble Augustus Gloop’s mother’s. It’s starting to form into a tire shape with it’s own treads.

But enough complaining. We had a blast. The kids enjoyed their stuff. They were even (gasp) nice to each other and to us. I shall share with you a Christmas photo montage of our fabulous holiday.

Here goes-

But wait, there’s more. My best gift, aside from the Lululemon jacket McSweetie got me, or even the spending $$ my MIL got me, Emma wrote me a ‘vignette’. I writing assignment in Language Arts class that pretty much can have any content, no plot line and not even complete sentences. Sounds like my blog doesn’t it? Anyway- it went something like this-

“Mama is proud of me when I am performing, tears trickle down Mama’s face. Salty hot tears of joy swell up in her eyes. Those eyes that are forests. Forests in autumn when the leaves start to change, crisp, yellow. Mama’s eyes are a burst of all those trees changing, changing, changing. Mama is beautiful.”

Okay that’s all I can type until I start with my own hot salty tears again down my face.

Here’s one of my favorites from last year. I make no apologies for having a fake tree. I can be hippy dippy and crunchy too, but the argument goes both ways pros and cons, fake or real. SO here’s my tale of why mine is fake. The TREE, that is! Geeze people.